Don't Let Go
by NiteJasmine
Summary: Taken off from "Both Sides Now" but House does NOT go to Mayfair. But he still has some serious challenges. Total *Huddy* all the way! R&R please. Rated M for language & future stuff.
1. Chapter 1

**DON'T LET GO**

**Taken off from "Both Sides Now", but House does NOT go to Mayfair. But he still has some serious challenges. Here's how it would all happen in my world. Total Huddy*Huddy*Huddy all the way!**

**I know there are quite a few of this vein of story line already circulating out there, but I hope you will enjoy this one too. Please read & review!**

**Rated M/Adult mainly for some future stuff.**

**All the usual and applicable disclaimers and warnings apply, such as don't like - don't read; I don't own House or any other characters, or anything or anybody else, blah, blah, blah…**

**NITEJASMINE**

DON'T LET GO

House MD fanfic by NiteJasmine

*****

House sat on his bed, his head bowed, arms limp at his sides. He was staring at the floor, but his focus was much farther away. Amber was in the room with him, but she was still and silent, sitting cross-legged on the floor under the window, watching him.

The revelation in her office earlier of his massive hallucination had left him shattered and visibly shaken. She had managed to help him get to the couch, and he had been able to give her a shaky recount of what his deluded brain had conjured up. Cuddy was shocked by the magnitude of the hallucination, but she kept her own thoughts reigned in and calmly listed to the whole thing. When he had finished, he had haltingly told her that now he was sure. It had to be the Vicodin. He really did need to detox. For real. He just didn't know what was real or not anymore.

"Will you help me?" He had asked, staring at the floor, his voice barely audible.

Cuddy had put a hand softly against his cheek, and gently turned his face to her. She felt a knot in her stomach at the haunted, frightened look in his eyes.

"Of course I will," she had said.

He had nodded, then he went quiet, looking back down at the floor. Since that moment, he had barely spoken.

Cuddy had taken him to Wilson's office and told him what had happened. Then she had brought him home, she didn't know where else to take him. House had asked for her help. Both in his delusion and for real, and she had a chance to do exactly that for him. But a full-blown detox with him? This was a daunting and frightening task. She was not sure she could handle it alone. Handle him. House was a strong man, and could easily overpower her physically. And she knew he could also be evilly manipulative to get what he wanted, especially when he got desperate.

There were so many things that could go horribly wrong with this plan. She seriously considered that maybe it would be better to take him somewhere, so he could go through this all in a controlled environment, surrounded by professionals. But she was not sure he would go, and his rebellious nature would cause him to fight every inch of every step of the way, being surrounded and prodded by a batch of strange doctors. It could push him even closer to the edge, or even right off the cliff. And his mental state was already very, very fragile. No, it was better to try it here, where he was familiar and comfortable. That decided, she took a deep breath and launched into the first order of business: sweep the place for all of his drugs.

She moved around House's apartment while she talked to Wilson at length on her cell, gathering up every stash of pills she could find while still keeping a watchful eye on House. But he just sat there on the edge of his bed, not moving, unresponsive. If he was aware of what she was doing, he didn't show it.

She had spent quite some time on the phone, arranging her nanny's schedule for Rachel, her staff nurses to hold down the fort for a few days, and asking Wilson to stop in at regular intervals, and to stay on call for her in case she needed him to come over quickly. They had also discussed her safety, and she set up a planned check-in schedule for herself with him as well. If she didn't call when she was supposed to, Wilson had better come running and bring the cavalry.

After hanging up, she had checked the kitchen and the fridge, there was enough food around for a day or two. And she could always ask Wilson to bring whatever she needed. She dug around and scrounged up some tea, chicken broth, and a few other odds & ends that she thought would come in handy later on. She put everything out so it would be within quick and easy reach for her. It was going to be a long, bumpy ride, and once they got rolling, she was going to have to make sure that House never left her sight, not for a second.

Finally, she felt she had everything arranged. She was ready. She took a deep breath, and headed for House's bedroom.

That was the last room she searched. He didn't speak or move as she methodically went through everything, collected the little amber bottles, emptied them into the toilet, and flushed them all away.

When she was done, she came and stood in front of him.

"House…" she started. He didn't look up at her. He knew what she wanted. He reached into his pocket and took out the bottle of pills. The same bottle that earlier had been her lipstick. He stared at it for a moment, then silently handed it to her. That one gone, she came and sat down next to him on the bed.

"Are you hungry?" Cuddy asked quietly.

House shook his head no.

"You should try and eat something," she continued gently. "You need to keep your strength up."

"Do you think…" House began, but stopped, surprised at the tremor in his own voice. He swallowed hard, and started again.

"Do you… really think… this will work?" He asked softly.

"Yes, I do," she answered. She put every once of belief in her answer. She didn't want to entertain any thoughts at all about this _not_ working. She didn't want to go there. This _had _to work.

House was quiet for a for a long moment.

"Okay," he finally answered softly, resigned.

"House…" Cuddy stopped herself. "Greg. It's going to be alright. I'm here for you."

"Are you really?" He asked timidly, like he was afraid of the answer. "Are you really here?"

Cuddy put one hand over his, and wrapped the other around his shoulders, pulling him to her.

"Yes. This is all real. I'm really here." She answered, willing him to believe her.

That's when he broke down and started to cry.

He collapsed into her arms, and exploded into tears. He pulled his legs up onto the bed before he balled his hands into fists and tucked them against his chest, curling himself into a tiny ball.

Cuddy held him tightly, slowly rocking him as he shook with sobs, the hot tears pouring down his face. The big, powerful man she once knew was reduced to a shaking, broken, weeping child in her lap.

He curled himself up around her, trying to make himself even smaller, to hide away from it all. He didn't have any shred of pride or self-consciousness left in him. The feel of Cuddy's warm embrace around him was his final undoing. He surrendered to his emotions completely, and let it all come pouring out. The years of pent up anguish, loneliness disappointment, fear. The bone-crushing, relentless pain, he vented it all. Stacy. His leg. His father. Amber. Kutner. His whole miserable life since the infarction. He laid there and emptied himself, too far gone to try and hold anything back.

The intensity of his collapse into her arms startled Cuddy. She had never seen anyone so absolutely devastated.

"I'm here, Greg," she whispered. "I've got you. I'm here." She could feel his whole body trembling, and it wasn't from any detox, not yet. This was just raw emotion. The cork had finally popped off the bottle and House was powerless to stop the gushing flood.

The tortured sobs shook his body. He felt completely drained and defenseless. He could feel the pain in his leg already beginning to howl. It wouldn't be long before the chills and the tremors and the nausea would come, and torment him with their icy grip for hours. And the pain. The unbearable pain. The prospect of this brutal detox looming on the horizon terrified him. He had no idea how he was going to survive it.

"I… I ca-can't… do th-this…" he stammered between sobs, his voice slightly muffled against Cuddy's stomach.

She felt her heart break for him.

"Yes, you can," she said softly but firmly, squeezing and rubbing his back and shoulder. "I'm going to help you."

He cried a little harder, and Cuddy held him a little tighter.

"I'm going to stay right here, Greg," she told him. "Right here with you. Every minute. I won't leave you. You just hold on to me. You hear me? You hang on to me and you don't let go. We're going to get through this together… Okay?"

He didn't answer her. Instead, she felt him shift his body slightly, and pull his arm free. He shakily wrapped it around her waist, knotting his fist up in the back of her shirt, and pulled himself tighter to her. She gently stroked one hand through his hair, while the other kept a firm hold across his back.

He eventually calmed down some, he had cried himself dry. He laid there, still trembling, but not moving, for what felt like an eternity. Cuddy thought he may have even dozed off into a fitful sleep. Good. He would need all of his strength to get through what was coming. They both would.

Cuddy had relaxed just a little, lulled by the stillness and relative quiet. She kept comforting him, gently rubbing his back, reassuring him. Hours passed.

Suddenly, House jolted in her arms, his detox symptoms starting to kick in. She felt him tense up, and heard a low, keening moan begin to come from him. The pitiful sound only stopped long enough for him to take a breath in, and continued again. His began to rock his body back and forth. He kept himself pressed against her, his face still scrunched up against her stomach. She began to wonder if he could breathe well enough, but she didn't want to chance trying to move him. He might think she was trying to push him away, and that would be disastrous.

"Nooooo…" she heard him moan. He solved the air supply dilemma by slowly turning his head up to look at her. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, and already swimming with pain. He laid there, just staring up at her, the look in those tortured eyes already begging for relief.

He crunched his eyes shut as his body tensed up harder, and he gasped, tightening his arm around her again.

"It huuuuuurts…." He wailed softly. "It… always… h-hurts… so… b-bad…"

Cuddy held him tightly. She knew she was going to have to be strong for him, but it was taking a monumental effort not to let her own tears fall.

"I know," she whispered. "I know it does."

"It never…. never stops…." He gasped further. "Never… Pleeeeease…. Make it…. stop…." His breathing turned rapid and shallow. "Please, please, please…." He dissolved against her as a fresh round of choking sobs tore from him.

Cuddy held him as tightly as she could, rocking with him. Is this what he has been keeping locked up? This level of brutal pain? Desperate to drown it with alcohol, squelch it with Vicodin, Morphine, or any other drug he could get his hands on. It's been eight years. Eight excruciating years of brutal, unrelenting pain. My God. No wonder he shredded himself to pieces. No one could endure this. Not indefinitely. She was amazed that he had been able to hang on and last this long.

She felt a huge pang of guilt for the time she and Wilson had manipulated him into going off his pills for a whole week. How the hell did that ever help him? All it did was prove that he was an addict and put him through 7 days of hellish pain.

And she felt absolutely ashamed of herself for all those other times that she had ignored his disability, forgot about his injury and his mobility issues. Messed with his pills. Hid his cane. Hurt him. She had actually _hurt_ him. Like he didn't have enough pain to deal with already. She wished she could turn back the clock and undo all of it. She would never, ever, discount his suffering again. Or anyone else's for that matter.

House shuddered against her, bringing her back to the moment.

"Make it stop….." he whispered, begging her.

"Oh, Greg…" she whispered back. But before she could say anything else, he suddenly twisted in her arms and half-rolled to the edge of the bed, where he violently emptied his stomach into the trashcan there. Cuddy had to quickly tighten her hold on him to keep his convulsing body from rolling right off onto the floor. She held onto him while he wretched hard, heaving until there was nothing else to bring up. He rolled onto his back, coughing and gasping for air.

Cuddy leaned down and snagged a T shirt that was lying on the floor, and gently wiped his face and mouth with it. He rolled his shivering body back towards her, wrapping his arms around her again and hugging himself to her fiercely. She circled her own arms around him and pulled him even closer, rocking with him again as a new wave of pain hit, pulling more tortured, pitiful moans from him.

She wished there was more that she could do. Something that she could give him to stop his pain and suffering. But she knew there wasn't anything. Not yet. She could eventually treat the pain, but not until the Vicodin was purged. He had to detox. He was going to have to go through this measure of hell and just ride it out. And they both knew it was going to get worse before it got any better. All she could do is hold him, comfort him, keep him grounded, be his strength.

House kept a tight grip on her. He was in absolute agony from the pain, the cramps, the tremors. He struggled to maintain any semblance of rational thought in his shambled mind. _Don't let go._ He kept repeating to himself. She was his anchor in the wailing thrashing storm. _Don't let go._ If he lost his grip on her for even a second, he feared that he would be swept away and lost forever. _Don't let go…_


	2. Ch2Rough Night

**DON'T LET GO, Ch2-Rough Night**

**House suffers through detox…**

**Rated M/Adult mainly for some future stuff.**

**All the usual and applicable disclaimers and warnings apply, such as don't like - don't read; I don't own House or any other characters, or anything or anybody else, blah, blah, blah…**

**NITEJASMINE**

DON'T LET GO, Chapter 2-Rough Night

House MD fanfic by NiteJasmine

*****

House thrashed around on his bed for the next few hours. He was near delirious, moaning loudly and gasping in pain, battling the violent tremors and the dry heaves. But he never relinquished his grip on Cuddy. Every time he twisted or rolled, he dragged her along with him. He maintained such a fierce, crushing embrace around her that she not only knew she would have some serious bruises, but she did begin to wonder if he might end up cracking a couple of her ribs in the process. But she just gritted her teeth and took it. It was really nothing compared to the agony House was in. And he was doing exactly what she had told him to do… To hang onto her and not let go.

She felt a small wave of relief when Wilson suddenly appeared in the bedroom doorway. Then she saw the look of grave concern on his face. House looked terrible, and she probably didn't look much better. She immediately began to try and alleviate his fears.

"He's doing fine…" She said, wincing a bit as House clenched around her again, riding out another bolt of pain.

"Yeah, I can see that," said Wilson, noticing how tightly House was holding her waist. "And aside from having your spine crushed, how are _you_?"

"I'm OK." She said, with a light sigh.

"How long?" He asked, looking down at his moaning, tortured friend.

"Few hours," she said tiredly, "still got a ways to go. Tonight will be the worst of it. The hard symptoms should ease off by morning."

Wilson nodded.

"Need anything?" He asked, wishing he could be much more useful. The noises coming from the bed were absolutely heart wrenching.

Cuddy had him make a big pot of tea, and bring her a few things from the kitchen. He offered to stay, to keep her company. She told him no.

"Go home and charge your cell," she said, "and keep it on."

"OK," he answered, putting his coat on. "Call me. Anytime. For anything. And don't forget to check in."

"I will," Cuddy answered. "Thanks, Wilson."

The young doctor turned and walked out of the apartment. He knew neither House nor Cuddy would get any sleep tonight, and he was pretty sure that he wouldn't get much either. He wanted to be ready to launch himself over here at a moment's notice if his cell should ring.

*****

Three more hours crawled by. House was lying curled up against Cuddy, still hugging her tightly. He had been only vaguely aware that she had been briefly talking to someone earlier. He guessed it was Wilson. He didn't care. He felt horrible. The detox was agonizing enough, but above it all, the pain in his leg was excruciating.

"You're pathetic!" He heard a familiar female voice say. It was loud and close by and sudden, and it scared the hell out of him. He jumped and snapped his eyes open. Amber was sitting right in front of him. His eyes went wide with horror at seeing her.

"Why don't you stop your whining?" She quipped. "And take your detox like a man."

House shuddered. Amber leaned in even closer to him, a cocky half smile on her face.

"So, you're going through aaaaaaaalllll this, just to get rid of little old me?" Amber asked, her voice all sing-songy. Then she gave him an exaggerated pout. "Why, Greggy boy, what did I do? We were getting along so well."

House just stared at her. She smirked back at him.

"You do know this is not going to work, right?" She asked him, giving him a knowing sideways look. "You're going to go through all this… for nothing." She leaned back and giggled.

He looked away, he didn't want to see her. Didn't want to hear her. House turned his face towards Cuddy, and buried his head against her soft body. He felt her arms move up and wrap around his shoulders, holding him close.

"Oh, you think _she_ is going to save you?" Amber laughed. "Hah! That's a joke! She already knows what a poor excuse of a man you are. You're not worth saving. We both know full well exactly what you're going to do. You're going to go tear this place apart the first chance you get, and find the pills she missed. You know she couldn't have gotten them all. And then you'll lie to her, and then you'll take the pills. That's what you're gonna do. Because you are a weak, pathetic little coward. And that's exactly how _she _sees you. That's how she will _always_ see you. You don't want to get rid of me. You want to get rid of _her_."

"No, no…" House gasped. "No… Go away…"

Cuddy had no idea that he was hallucinating.

"I'm not going to leave you Greg," Cuddy told him. He had his head buried against her, she couldn't see the panicked look on his face.

But then it dawned on her. He wouldn't be clutching her so tightly if we wanted her to leave. She realized that it must be Amber. He's hallucinating. So. His subconscious was finally starting to screw with him again. Great. This is where it's gonna get scary. Maybe she should have had Wilson stay.

"Greg, look at me," Cuddy said, her voice firm. She reached down, and gently began to coax his head up. "Come on, look at me."

House reluctantly opened his eyes. He looked to where Amber had been sitting, she was gone. He let his face be tilted up, until he saw Cuddy's deep blue eyes.

She held his gaze.

"Look at me. I'm real, Greg." Cuddy told him. "I'm real, and she's not. It's just your subconscious reacting to the detox. She will be gone soon. Gone for good. Understand?"

House gave her a trembling nod.

"OK," Cuddy continued, releasing his face. "It's going to be OK. You're doing great."

Cuddy held him, caressing his back.

"Doing _great_, huh?" Amber called out. House's eyes darted around, finally finding Amber leaning against his dresser across the room. She wasn't smiling. "What the hell does she know? _She's _never been through detox. _She _doesn't have constant pain. Besides, it's all _her_ fault... all the pain… _She_ did this to you…"

House scrunched his eyes shut.

"No… Stop… stop, stop stop…" he moaned.

"Oh, but you know it won't!" Amber hollered. "It's only going to get _worse!!!_"

As if to emphasize her point, sharp bolts of pain suddenly tore through him, radiating from his damaged leg. House howled loudly in pain, startling the hell out of Cuddy. He convulsed against her, nearly doubling in on himself. He tore one arm from Cuddy's waist and latched his hand onto the scar on his right thigh. Even through the material of his pants, he dug his nails in, clawing at the source of his pain. He wanted to gouge it out. He wanted to tear it from his body. Be rid of it once and for all.

"Greg, no!" Cuddy shouted, momentarily stunned by the severity of this fresh attack of pain. She had read that addicts with chronic pain could experience spikes during detox, launching them instantly up and off the pain charts. But it was only supposed to be short lived, the text books said the pain spike should come right back down just as quickly, like a blip on the radar. But House wasn't following the book, and she had never seen anything like this. She began to feel completely inadequate. She didn't know what to do. But she knew she had to do _something_.

She grabbed at his hand, trying to pull it away from his leg, before he could do more damage to himself. She finally managed to pry his hand free, nearly taking a chunk of ripped fabric with it. She called his name, over and over, trying to reach him through the torment. Then she had an idea, she clamped both of her hands down onto his scarred thigh, and began massaging the injured limb, squeezing hard.

House reacted with a sharp frightened gasp, but it got his attention. His near-screams backed off to loud moans. Cuddy kept kneading.

"Breathe, Greg," she ordered, hoping she was helping him, not hurting him. It had the desired effect. He seemed to settle down a bit, his chest heaving for air. She felt his body release a tiny bit of the tension, so she kept working. He calmed down a little more, the worst of the attack seemed to be passing. He laid his head back, still panting. He still had one arm around her, and she didn't have much room to maneuver, to get any leverage, but she clamped down with all the strength her hands would give. Suddenly he jumped, catching his breath.

Cuddy froze, thinking she had hurt him.

"Too hard?" She asked quickly.

"No," he wheezed, "no… Harder…"

She did as he asked, her hands firmly delving into the ravaged muscle tissue of his thigh. He closed his eyes, and his body relaxed a little further.

"Don't stop…" he whispered.

She wasn't sure how long she could keep this up, she had the small, delicate hands of a surgeon, not a sumo wrestler. But she was determined to go at it for as long as she could. She had found something that helped him, something to ease his pain. She would rub his leg until her hands fell off.

*****

She had no idea how long she had massaged him. She felt the ache deep in her fingers and wrists, and the heels of her hands were feeling raw from the friction, but she hadn't quit or let up. She was focused on keeping up the pressure, keeping her hands moving.

Eventually though, House reached over and gently laid his trembling hand over hers, stopping her, breaking her concentration. She had been so intent on her task, she hadn't noticed how calm he had gotten.

Cuddy looked up and checked the clock, surprised at the time. She had been working on his leg for much longer than she thought. She sat back and rubbed her aching wrists while she assessed his condition. He was still shaking, but not as bad as before. And he hadn't tried to hurl up his kidneys in while either. But he still looked completely empty and exhausted. He was watching her through half-open, red swollen eyes. His breathing still more gulps of air than actual respiration. He was still fighting the awful pain, but for the first time of the night, he wasn't writhing on the mattress, threatening to break bones with his grip. Apparently her massage efforts had helped. A lot. She thought she should take advantage of this momentary lull and get some hydration into them both.

She leaned across him and grabbed the bottle of water next to the bed, nearly dropping it. She went to unscrew the top, but her hands started shaking. She had no strength at all left to twist the cap off. Frustrated, she held the bottle with both hands and shoved the top in her mouth, bit down and turned, removing the offending cap with her teeth. She turned her head and spit the cap out, sending it skittering across the floor.

"Huh. That was… lady like," he snarked weakly, his voice a hoarse grating whisper. She looked at him and smiled warmly, happy and relieved to hear even the slightest trace of his old self able to emerge.

"I got it open, didn't I?" She answered defiantly. "Come here," she said as she adjusted her position enough to support his head and allow him to drink from the bottle while she held it. Her hand shook slightly, but it was better than his. Even though his tremors had decreased, he was still shaking enough that the contents of the bottle would be all over the bed if she had left it to him. He took a few small sips, then a few bigger ones. Once he nodded that he was satisfied, she took a few long pulls herself.

"Thank you," he said quietly. But before she could answer him, a fresh wave of pain hit, and his body tensed up again, but nowhere near as hard or brutal as previously. Still, the brief respite apparently over, he shut his eyes and his breathing became more labored. Only a soft moan escaped him this time, and he was rocking, but much slower than before.

She reached for his leg again, determined to administer the only comfort she could give him despite her own pain, but he stopped her.

"No…" he whispered. "Gonna hurt… your hands,"

"It helps, doesn't it?" She asked insistently.

He nodded. But then grunted a soft "no…" when she reached for him again.

"I can... wait," he managed to say through his clenched teeth. He met her questioning gaze, and gave a resigned, shaky sigh. "I may… need it… later…"

"Okay," she answered. She was torn between desperately wanting to help bring him physical comfort, and the relief at being able to give her weak and tired hands a well needed rest.

She settled for reaching over and softly stroking a weary hand through his hair.

"You should try and eat something," she offered.

His stomach rolled over at the mere thought of food. He grunted his disapproval.

"Really," she kept going, "you need to keep your strength up. You should try and get something in your stomach. Anything sound good?"

"Vicodin!" Amber hollered. House jolted up at the sound of her voice, bringing new bolts of pain from his leg. He looked over and saw her standing in the hallway, just outside his bedroom door, grinning. "A Vicodin would go _great_ in your stomach right now!"

He stared at her, then clamped his eyes shut. The normal cold pangs of fear gripped him, like they always did when he saw her. And she was gaining a habit of scaring the living crap out of him with her sudden outbursts.

But then, unbidden, the detached, clinical, diagnostic part of his brain alerted him to an interesting observation: Since he started seeing Amber, she had always stayed close to him. Sometimes right in his face, cooing in his ear. But since he had come home with Cuddy and started the detox, he had seen her much less often, and Kutner not at all. And every time he did see Amber, she was further away from him. Did that mean something? Did that mean this was working? Did he dare to let himself believe that? He opened his eyes and looked back at her. She looked smaller than before. Despite his pain, he felt a faint smile come to his face.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Amber wailed. "You can't just dismiss me!" She had to yell, she looked so far away that he would have a difficult time hearing her if she didn't yell. Even so, she wasn't all that loud anymore. And she wasn't quite so vivid. She looked a little fuzzy to him. He decided to try and ignore her again.

Another round of pain rushed up from his leg, breaking up his thoughts. He was bone tired and felt completely wrung out. He realized that Cuddy was talking to him, so he shifted his focus back to her.

"…what'ya think, want to try just a little?" Cuddy had a cup of room temperature chicken broth in her hands, sipping some and offering the cup for him.

He nodded. She helped him take a few sips, and he had to admit, it tasted good. The slightly oily broth soothing his dry mouth and easing the mild nausea he still felt.

When he had sipped enough, she put the cup back down and picked up her cell phone. The first shards of early morning were just making their way to the windows. Only a mere hint of light. She hit Wilson's speed dial number, and he picked up on the second ring, sounding slightly groggy but immediately alert.

Cuddy told him she was just checking in and things were going fine. She gave him a small shopping list of things that she wanted him to bring over. He sounded questioning and curious about a couple of them, until he finally caught on that she was speaking in code about a couple of the items. He said he understood, and would pick everything up and stop by in about an hour or so, if that was OK. She said yes, that would be fine.

She thanked him and hung up, looking down at the exhausted man still latched onto her, who had endured a night of hell. Now he was rocking harder, eyes shut, moaning just a little louder, his pain level steadily creeping back up the scale. Cuddy wondered if Amber was still in the room, but the answer to that question would have to wait.

She moved herself into position, and began massaging his leg again. He made no move to stop her this time. Her sore hands complained, but she ignored the discomfort and got back to work, immensely pleased at the immediate calming effect it had on him. She had found a way to help him. She was determined that she would keep at it until Wilson arrived…


	3. Ch3The Morning After

**DON'T LET GO, Ch3-The Morning After**

**One night down, one lifetime to go…**

**Rated M/Adult for a little language and some future stuff. Ch4 coming soon!!!**

**All the usual and applicable disclaimers and warnings apply, such as don't like - don't read; I don't own House or any other characters, or anything or anybody else, blah, blah, blah…**

**NITEJASMINE**

DON'T LET GO, Chapter 3-The Morning After

House MD fanfic by NiteJasmine

*****

Cuddy didn't stop her deep massaging of his leg until she heard Wilson's voice at the bedroom door. She sat back with a relieved sigh. Her hands were sore and aching, and as soon as she stopped, they started shaking pretty bad. But her efforts had definitely helped House battle the pain.

"Good Mor-" Wilson started to say, but stopped in his tracks when she turned and looked up at him. Cuddy's exhausted, wrung-out appearance stunned him into silence. But he recovered quickly.

"-ning. Morning." He finished, clearing his throat.

House looked way worse than she did. He was still trembling and sweating and softly moaning, but it was encouraging to see that at least he was no longer wrangling Cuddy around the bed trying to squeeze her internal organs into pudding.

He noted the torn pants on his detoxing friend, right over his painful scar. There's a story he would have to get later. House cracked his eyes open for a moment, silently acknowledging that, yes, it was Wilson standing there, not anyone else.

"Did you bring it?" Cuddy asked him, too tired for any other pleasantries at the moment.

Wilson nodded, and pulled a small black bag from his coat pocket. He held it out and took a step towards her, but she held up a trembling hand to stop him.

"No. You better do it. My hands…" she sighed, looking down at her aching fingers. "I'll spill it all over the floor."

Wilson stopped, and hesitated.

"Are you… sure about this?" he asked seriously, shrugging out of his coat and laying it on a chair.

Cuddy nodded tiredly.

"He needs to get some rest, and not just physically," she said flatly. "He's in too much pain to sleep without some help. His Vicodin levels should be low enough by now. Besides, I only want to give him a quarter dose. That should be enough."

"And what if he stops breathing?" He asked, an eyebrow raised.

She gave him a weary half smile.

"That's why you're here," she answered.

"Ah," Wilson said, glad that he could finally do something helpful in all this. "OK. Alright. Good."

He set the little bag down on one of the dressers and unzipped it. He pulled out the contents, and carefully measured out the dose of methadone per Cuddy's instructions.

Within minutes of taking it, all the stress and tension drained out of House's face, and his whole body relaxed. The room went mercifully quiet as he finally stopped moaning. Cuddy ran her hand through his hair.

"Better?" She asked him. He nodded, looking up at her through red, exhausted eyes.

"Good. Try and get some sleep while you can," she told him. She saw a flash of panic in his eyes, and quickly soothed his fears. "Shhhh. I'm right here, Greg. It's OK. I won't leave you." He relaxed again, and closed his eyes. She comforted him until the only sound in the room was his now soft, rhythmic breathing.

Cuddy did not allow herself to relax until she was sure House was fast asleep. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, her head and shoulders sagging forward.

"Hey, you OK?" Wilson came over and kneeled at the edge of the bed, it was as close as he could get to her, with House's sleeping body between them.

She slowly looked up at him with the most pitiful, desperate expression she had ever seen.

"Oh, God, Wilson," she said, shakily. "What the hell are we going to do with him?"

Wilson wasn't sure what she meant.

"We're… gonna help him get off the Vicodin…" he answered.

"Yeah? And then what?" she asked bitterly, cutting him off.

Wilson was taken aback by the sharp edge to her voice. He just sat there and looked at her, a hurt, puzzled expression on his face.

"His pain. God Wilson, his _pain_," Cuddy said, her voice starting to crack. "I mean… I just… I never… Oh, God…" she couldn't finish a sentence. And couldn't stop the flow of tears that began to fall. "I didn't know…"

He let her cry for a little bit before talking again.

"You do realize that it's magnified by the detox, right?" Wilson offered, trying to calm her. "It's not always that bad…"

"But what if it is?" She countered, getting more and more worked up. "What if it is that bad? What if it's _always_ going to _be_ that bad? How is he supposed to live with that? Huh?! How?!" A fresh wave of tears coursed down her face.

"Lisa, calm down. We'll figure something out," Wilson said, focusing on conveying steady calm energy to her. "Look, you've been through an awful night. You're exhausted, and you're not thinking clearly. You need some sleep too."

Cuddy sighed again, then slowly nodded, wiping her tears away.

"You're right," she said tiredly. "Just, um, keep an eye on him, OK?"

Wilson nodded back. "You got it."

Cuddy mumbled her thanks again, then wiggled herself down next to the sleeping man beside her, his relaxed embrace giving her a little extra room. She draped her arm across House's chest and settled against him, closing her eyes with an exhausted sigh. She was asleep instantly.

Wilson sat down on the chair near the head of the bed and leaned back, settling in, ready to keep vigil over his two sleeping friends.

*****

Wilson watched them sleep for several hours, neither one moving an inch. He moved around the room a few times, staying alert and awake, making sure to keep a close eye on House's breathing.

Cuddy was the first one to wake up.

Rousing from her deep slumber, she slowly pulled herself into a sitting position, making sure she never broke the physical bond with the man lying beside her.

She nodded to Wilson, giving him a tired smile. House still slept peacefully, unaware of their conversation.

"So, last night was pretty rough, huh?" Wilson finally asked softly.

"Yeah," Cuddy replied, her voice still thick with sleep.

"Hallucinations?" He asked.

Cuddy sighed and rubbed her eyes.

"Only once that I know of," she said, "then, the pain…" her voice trailed off. "I don't know," she eventually finished with another sigh.

They were quiet for a moment, then Cuddy seemed to gather herself together.

"Until we come up with something else, I'm keeping him on the methadone," Cuddy said, her voice firm, warning that this topic was not open for discussion. "We know it works for him. At this low dosage, he won't be pain-free, but hopefully… it will at least be… tolerable."

Wilson nodded his agreement, not willing to argue with her.

Just then, House groaned lightly and began to stir. He struggled awake, the lines of pain quickly re-establishing themselves on his face, and winding up the tension in his body. Cuddy helped him calmly awaken by gently rubbing his chest.

Cuddy asked Wilson if he wouldn't mind whipping up some breakfast. Despite the fact that it was already early afternoon, he was only happy to oblige. Cuddy thanked him as he headed off to the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone on House's bed.

House finally managed to pry his eyes open, blinking and groaning again at the half-curtained daylight filtering into the room. He felt slightly rested, but still felt like he had been run over by a steamroller. He felt completely drained and limp. The detox symptoms had drastically slacked off, but he could still feel them, lurking in the shadows. This wasn't all over quite yet. No way. He knew better.

His leg hurt, but the methadone dose Cuddy had ordered up for him had dropped it way down the pain scale. It had allowed him some sleep. And, at present, the pain was certainly not gone, not my any means, but it was tolerable. At least it was allowing him to maintain some rational thought in his mind. He wondered how long it would stay that way, but decided to just try to take this all one moment at a time. He just didn't have the strength for anything beyond that. He was also enjoying the closeness and warmth of the wonderful woman sharing his bed with him. Cuddy. _His_ Cuddy.

He looked up at her. His savior. His strength. Her eyes were red and still tired, her hair disheveled. Her face was slightly drawn and pale. He wondered if she had slept at all. But, he honestly thought that she had never looked more radiantly beautiful than at that moment. His heart swelled with an overwhelming gratitude and warmness for her that he never thought possible. But even in spite of his complete and horrendous emotional breakdown yesterday, he still was finding it immensely difficult to verbalize his feelings. He really wanted to tell her, but he couldn't. Rather than trying to wrestle with his raw, jangled nerves, he gave up and settled for giving her a light smile.

She gave him a glowing smile back. She inwardly shifted away from her own tempestuous emotions, locking them all away for the time being, and re-focused on being strong for him. To be the rock that she knew he needed.

"Hey," she said softly.

"Hey," he whispered back. His lips were chapped, his throat dry and scratchy.

"How's the pain?" she asked.

House showed a slight sign of his old self by slightly rolling his eyes. There was also a trace of that old impish glimmer that she had always secretly loved so much.

"Umm, it hurts," he answered simply, the sarcasm thick in his voice. He refused to allow the memory of his earlier pain wailings to crowd in on him, at least for the time being. He pushed those away.

Cuddy allowed him that space and grinned. She shook her head slightly in disbelief, amazed at his ability for petulance. But it was refreshing, given the circumstances.

"Give me a number," she said, switching to her 'official doctor' tone.

House thought for a minute.

"About a four," he finally said seriously, looking down at his lap.

Out of habit as much as necessity, he moved his right hand over and started lightly rubbing his thigh, through the shredded fabric on his leg. He lifted his thumb and noted that he had given himself a few good scratches, but no serious damage or fresh blood.

"Can you handle that?" she asked him. He nodded.

"For now," he answered honestly.

"Okay. How about some food? Wilson's making us breakfast."

He was surprised to discover that he actually was hungry. He nodded again. He tried to lick his lips, but his mouth was too dry and parched. His mouth felt like it was full of sand.

"Water?" He asked.

Cuddy looked around. The bottle next to the bed was empty. She saw another one on top of the dresser, but it was out of her reach, unless she got up from the bed.

"I'd have to get up to get it," she said cautiously.

"OK," he replied quickly, thinking it shouldn't be a big deal, letting her go enough to grab a simple bottle of water for him.

But just feeling her begin to hesitantly leave his side, House panicked. He couldn't let her move away from him, to lose her warmth. He didn't want her to leave his embrace. He still wanted to keep that close contact with her. It had carried him through the hellish night, and he was deathly afraid to release it. No. Not an inch. Not even for a second. He still needed her. Very much.

"No, wait," he said, his voice sounding strained. He tightened his arm around her. He didn't have much strength left in his arms, so he didn't really pull or squeeze very hard at all. He couldn't. But her waist and ribs were so bruised and sore, she could not stop the soft grunt and hissing intake of breath at his small, slight increase in pressure around her. And this time, it did not escape his notice. He stopped still and looked at her, completely forgetting about the water, concern clouding his eyes.

He watched her valiantly still herself, and take a few deep breaths before she opened her eyes again. He knew all to well how it looked when someone was trying to hide a lot of pain. He had seen it in the mirror all the time.

"I hurt you…" he said matter-of-factly, his eyes going sad and his features already lining with guilt.

"I'm OK," she answered, trying to downplay her own pain and reassure him. "Just a little sore. That's all."

"Let me see," he said.

"Greg, I'm fine…"

"Let me see," he said again, his voice cutting and deadly serious.

She sighed heavily. Actually, she had to admit, she was a little curious herself. Sure, she was really sore, but it couldn't be that bad, could it? So she had a couple bruises. No big deal.

She turned slightly, gathered up the bottom edge of her shirt, and pulled it up, exposing the right side of her rib cage and across her stomach. She heard him make a sound, almost like a whimper. She looked down at herself and immediately understood why. Her entire midsection was flush with dark black, blue, purple, and other multi-colored bruises. It looked like she had been beaten with a 2x4. It looked bad.

Wilson had chosen that moment to enter the room, carrying a tray of food. Again, he stopped short at the sight of Cuddy's injuries.

"Whoa," he blurted out. "Good God, you're really hurt."

Cuddy quickly dropped her shirt.

"Oh, I am not," she said angrily, defensively, looking at Wilson. "It's just a few bruises. It's nothing."

She looked down at House. He was staring at her with the most sorrowful look in his eyes. She saw the regret he was feeling and it made her want to cry all over again.

"I'm sorry," House said, his voice reduced to a soft trembling whisper.

She could see him start to withdraw, and it made her angry. After everything they had just been through, she couldn't let him start to retreat and crawl back into his shell. To regress to his pattern of self-loathing and self-destructive behavior. She needed to head this off, and right now.

"House, knock it off!" she shouted firmly, going back for the moment to calling him by his last name. It gave her more authority.

"So, I've got some bruises. So what. Greg, you needed me. And for once, you actually did what you were told. I told you to hold onto me, and that's exactly what you did. That's the only way I could help you get through last night, and I did it willingly. And it worked. I wouldn't trade these bruises for anything."

House seemed to regroup, but he didn't say anything. He just laid there staring at her.

"Enough. Now let's eat," she demanded. "I'm starved."

*****

The food was delicious. Cuddy helped House slowly eat. Not a lot, but she was happy to see him get something more into his stomach. He was functional at his current pain level, but still weak as a kitten, and needed to build his strength. No further mention was made of Cuddy's bruises. But House had unwound his arm from around her waist, settling instead to lay his hand on her thigh, still keeping the close physical contact bond with her.

When they were eventually done, Wilson gathered up the dirty dishes on the tray and headed back to the kitchen. Cuddy went back to stroking her hand through his hair, coddling him.

Without the distraction of food, or anything else, House could feel the pain beginning to get worse. Slowly, but it was definitely heading in that direction. Like it always did. And he knew it always would. He would never be pain free. It pissed him off as much as it terrified him. Always had, since the surgery. How was he supposed to live like this? He hated it. Hated all of this. Hated her. Hated Wilson. Hated it all. Hated life. He suddenly swatted her hand away.

"Why don't you both just leave me the fuck alone?!" He spat out harshly, giving no warning at all of his frustrated venting.

Cuddy recoiled, but quickly absorbed the venom of his comment, like she always had with all the other horrible things he had ever said to her. But this time she was able to recognize it for what it was. She knew he would be riding an emotional roller coaster for a while. Radical mood swings. Depression. Anger. Despondency. Interspersed with moments of normalcy, where brief moments of 'House being House' could be refreshing and satisfying. And there would also be moments of weakness, neediness and dependency, which he would loathe, but would be unable to do anything to avert.

Uncontrollably riding all those wild swings, he would definitely feel unstable, frightened, and vulnerable. And he would absolutely hate every minute of it. Being so out of control.

She was ready to help him work through it all, and help him work back toward his normal self, opioid-free. But she also knew his crushing 24/7 pain was what drove him to the drug abuse in the first place. Last night had been horrible, but now an even longer road was stretched out in front of them. How to help him manage his incredible pain, and keep him from relapsing to drugs. And after last night, she had a much deeper appreciation of how monumental a task that was going to be.

And top of all that, she could only guess at what was going on inside his head. He was complicated enough in the first place. Add that to all the other issues he had going and you have one mixed up jigsaw puzzle of a man. She knew she definitely did not have a degree in psychology _or_ puzzle solving. That was his arena.

"Hey, do you want…" Cuddy started to ask, but he cut her off.

"I don't want anything!" He snapped, his volume a little louder than he meant it to be. "Actually, no, I do want something. I want the pain to stop!!"

He immediately dropped his eyes to his lap again, sorry for the outburst as soon as he had said it. He should be grateful and thankful to her for helping him. Keeping him in one piece. Staying with him. Instead, he was lashing out at her, wanting to punish her for just being in the room. She had helped him. He had hurt her. He wanted to be alone. He wanted her to hold him. He wanted to crawl under the bed. He wanted to smash his fist through a wall. He wanted to run away. He wanted a fucking Vicodin…

A million emotions were swirling around in his head. His nerves felt jangled and raw. He was feeling overwhelmed. He started to breathe quicker. His chest felt tight. He started shaking again. There was a rising wave of panic overtaking him, smothering him, drowning him. The room was getting smaller, closing in on him…

Cuddy recognized the anxiety attack immediately. She called his name softly and reached for him, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him closer, speaking soothingly to him, telling him to calm down. Telling him to breathe.

He resisted her pull at first, almost fighting her. But he couldn't resist the comfort of her arms around him. He quickly surrendered to her warm embrace. She slowly rocked him and talked to him soothingly, until she felt him relaxing again.

He stayed there for a while, listening to her soft words lull him, comforting him, calming him. But at the same time, thinking how ridiculous this all was. Collapsing into her arms like a spineless rag doll every ten minutes. He hated that he was so needy and helpless. So stupid and pitiful and weak. He absolutely hated it. Amber had been right. He was a poor excuse for a man…

Amber.

The thought stopped him. He opened his eyes. He pushed away from Cuddy slightly and cautiously looked all around the room. The window, the dresser, the hallway. Nothing.

She was gone. Really gone.

He looked at Cuddy, who was watching him closely, looking worried and anxious.

"She's gone," he finally said, relieved, and still somewhat breathless.

Cuddy flashed a huge smile of relief.

"Thank you," he said, once again feeling immeasurably grateful for her help, but also guilty for lashing out and injuring her as well.

"And I'm sorry I hurt you," he added quietly.

"You're welcome," she said softly, placing her hand on his stubbled cheek. "And I'm fine..."

As if on cue, the pain in his leg chose that moment to amp up. He grunted, shutting his eyes and clenching his teeth.

"How bad?" She asked quickly.

"Six," he answered, his teeth tightly clenched, his breathing quickening again. "Ugh. Skipped… right past five."

She looked over at the methadone on the dresser. No way she could reach it from where she was, and she didn't want to risk trying to break away from him again.

She called for Wilson, but he had the water running in the kitchen sink, and didn't hear her.

"Okay, just hang on a minute Greg," she said, pulling him closer. "We'll get you something. Just hang on. Come here." She would have Wilson measure out another dose as soon as he came back to the room.

House rolled towards her, letting her hold onto his shoulder and rub his back.

He laid across her, clinging to the knowledge that help was on the way…

That's when he saw it. A small little orange bottle. Wedged between the back of his nightstand and the wall. You could only see it from the angle he was at, lying down on the bed right there. The edge of the table would have hidden it from anyone standing up looking down at it. Must have fallen down there a long time ago. He stared at it. He could see the little white pills inside it. He counted them. There were six, no seven. He could almost taste them. That bitter flash on his tongue, feeling it slide down his throat as he swallowed it, inwardly proud that he could accomplish that little trick without any liquids. He licked his lips. He remembered how it felt, the rush of relief as it kicked into his system. Sweet relief. All right there, in that one little bottle. He was so intent on it, so single-mindedly focused on it, that he didn't hear Wilson come back into the room. He didn't hear Cuddy talking to him.

Then Cuddy was helping him sit up. He finally managed to tear his attention away from the nightstand and what lay hidden behind it. So now he had a secret. He looked at Cuddy. He knew he should tell her. He should. He knew he should. So. Tell her. _Tell her_…

But he didn't. Then he got his methadone dose, and the pain got better. Not gone, but it was OK.

He didn't need to tell her about it. He didn't need the little hidden bottle right now. So it was fine to leave it right where it was. His little secret. It didn't matter. Amber was gone. And right now his pain was… manageable. He didn't need to tell her…


	4. Ch4Temptation

**DON'T LET GO, Ch4-Temptation**

**House is getting clean, but can he stay that way?**

**Rated M/Adult for language and for some future stuff.**

**All the usual and applicable disclaimers and warnings apply, such as don't like - don't read; I don't own House or any other characters, or anything or anybody else, blah, blah, blah…**

**NITEJASMINE**

DON'T LET GO, Chapter 4-Temptation

House MD fanfic by NiteJasmine

*****

Cuddy stayed on the bed next to him for absolutely as long as she could. It was late morning. Wilson had left for the hospital a little while ago, he had dying patients who needed him. He was going to return later, and was still on call for her with his cell.

But finally, she just couldn't wait any more. Simple biology took precedence. If she didn't get up right away, she was sure her bladder was going to burst. She had held on and waited as long as she could.

"Hey," she finally said to House, her voice somewhat urgent. He was laying on his back, half-dozing. The small methadone dose had moderated his pain back down to a fairly tolerable level and he was taking full advantage of every minute. He opened his eyes and looked up at her.

"Um, I really have to get up for a minute," she said hesitantly, not sure how he would react.

House was an intelligent man and brilliant doctor, so it didn't take him long to understand why. He didn't need to push her for any further explanation.

He didn't say anything, just nodded. Then slowly, reluctantly, he pulled his hand away from her thigh, finally breaking the intense physical bond that they had forged together through the pits of hell and back. He felt the loss immediately, all the way down to his soul, but he kept quiet. He had known that this moment would have to come, but still didn't like it one bit. He felt the swell and swirl of a panic attack beginning to bubble up, like he had lost his anchor to the planet. But he fought it down.

Cuddy knew she only had a small window of ti

"I'll be right back," she said, quickly scurrying off the bed and into the bathroom. Her legs nearly gave out under her from the lack of current use, but she managed to scramble in and do what she had to do. She did not close the bathroom door. House found that little action rather curious, but didn't question it. But apparently the concept had awakened his own needs, and he decided that a trip to the john was an excellent idea.

House forced himself up, and slowly slid his legs over the edge of the bed. He was just in the process of looking around for his cane when Cuddy came back into the room.

"Whoa, hey, where do you think you're going?" She asked quickly.

He gave her an annoyed sigh. He nodded to the door she had just returned from.

"Same place." He replied flatly. He spotted his cane leaning on the nightstand, grabbed it, and began to start and haul himself to his feet.

Cuddy rushed over and stopped him, her hands on his shoulders.

"Not without help, and not alone, oh no you're not," she said sternly.

He looked up at her, doing his best to look defiant, despite the fact that we was glad to have her close, and touching him again.

"I don't need any help going potty, Mommy," intentionally sounding like a whining child.

"You are still officially under my care," she said warningly. "And under my rules. Right now, you don't have the strength. In your legs or your arms. And I will not have you falling down and cracking open that thick head of yours. So, come on. I'll help you."

He didn't move. He just sat there and glared at her. Inside, he knew she was right. He had seen how weak her legs were when she had gotten up, and she had two good, strong ones. If he tried to get up by himself, he was pretty sure that within two steps or less he would be sprawled on the floor. That wouldn't do his bad leg any favors. But his latent stubbornness and recovering shreds of his pride just wouldn't let him quietly accept the help. Not even from her. It was just too humiliating.

"No." He said, sounding annoyed.

Cuddy stepped back and folded her arms.

"OK. Go ahead then," she said, but she poised herself to spring forward and catch him.

He tried to stand, but immediately discovered that he was far too weak. The room tipped, his head spun, a swirl of stars behind his eyes as he felt lightheaded. He nearly collapsed straight down. But Cuddy caught him quickly and sat him right back down on the edge of the bed again, letting him recover for a minute.

Cuddy stood there, quietly waiting for him to accept her assistance. He finally gave a resigned sigh and put his arm out, allowing her to slip under it and help him slowly get to his feet. Then, leaning heavily on both her and his cane, she helped him get to the doorway.

But he still stubbornly insisted that he go in there alone. She sighed heavily. She let him slowly steady himself against the doorframe, before she released her hold on him.

"Fine, go," she said, her voice turning cool and clinical. "But leave the door open." She walked over and sat down on the bed.

"What?" He asked in disbelief. He had stopped still, holding onto the doorframe, and was looking back at her.

"You heard me," she said again firmly. "Door open."

He stood there for a moment, just staring at her. Then he figured it out. She thought he could have a stash hidden somewhere in there.

"You don't trust me?" His eyes narrowed. It was almost a statement as much as a question.

But Cuddy was ready for this one. She had seen this little battle coming. It was important that she win it.

She held his questioning gaze for a minute, then walked back over and stood in front of him. Even though he was naturally taller than her, she drew herself up to her full height. She looked at him squarely, her expression deadly serious, her hands on her hips, her gaze boring right into his steely blue eyes. Her voice was that of the authoritative hospital administrator. Clear, commanding, and not open for negotiation.

"Until I have had a chance to completely search every inch of this entire apartment properly… I trust you about as far as I can throw you. Actually, at this point, not even that far. I am not letting you out of my sight, except for allowing you a little privacy right here. And I know you well enough to _not_ allow you any room whatsoever to push that boundary. So you will leave...the goddamn door…OPEN. And I'm timing you." With that, she flashed him a smug smile, then turned and walked back over to sit on the edge of the bed, crossing her arms and waiting for him.

House stood there silently for another moment, then quietly retreated into the bathroom, and carefully, hanging onto the walls, managed to answer nature's call.

He left the door open.

*****

The rest of the afternoon passed relatively quiet. House's pain was still there, but it was apparently holding at a tolerable level and he wasn't due for another methadone dose until the following morning.

She was well aware of the time table involved with the methadone dosing, and the dangers of it. She had to be very careful, figuring in the drug's 24 hour half-life and how long House should fully detox with it. She knew that withdrawals from methadone addiction were much worse than Vicodin or any other opiates. Even worse than heroin. She could keep him on this dosage for about a week, 10 days max. Really shouldn't go any longer. Beyond that, she still had no idea yet what to do with him…

She stayed next to him on the bed, keeping true to her promise of not letting him out of her sight. Cuddy plugged her cell into the charger, and spent a few hours checking in with everybody, at all levels. She put out a few fires here and there, issued a few directives, granted a few approvals. Lastly, she checked in with her nanny. Rachel was down for a nap, everything was fine.

House distracted himself by reading a few articles in his Medical Journals, interspersed with taking little naps. Listening to Cuddy on the phone annoyed him. He rationalized that it was probably because he was temporarily not the central focus of her attention. But it still pissed him off. Especially when she called and asked about the damn kid. It made his leg hurt. Worse. He wished he had a TV in his bedroom. He could've distracted himself and drowned her out with watching the soaps. He hated the pain. He made a sudden decision that he just didn't want to do this anymore. This sucked. He quickly developed a plan in his head. He was sure it would work. He could always count on Cuddy's guilt. He waited until she was finished and finally hung up the phone. Then he put his plan into action.

He announced that he was hungry.

It was already early evening, but Wilson probably wouldn't be back for another hour, maybe more. So Cuddy had a dilemma. Go quickly fetch him something from the kitchen herself, or wait for Wilson to arrive? She studied his face for a moment, trying to decide. She could see that he was still in pain. The least she could do was get the man some food. She would be fast. Only be gone for a minute, maybe two, at the most. His legs were still pretty weak. So what could he possibly do in that short amount of time?

House saw her struggling with the decision to leave him alone or not. His leg hurt. He _was_ hungry, that wasn't a lie. But his leg _hurt_. And knew where to get some relief. He wouldn't need much time at all. He just needed her to give him a few seconds alone…

"Alright," she finally said. "I'll get something. I'll be right back."

He inwardly smiled to himself as he watched her get up and quickly head for the kitchen. He had been right.

He knew she would move pretty fast, but he could move faster…

*****

The instant that she had left the room, he hauled his legs up and rolled himself quickly across the bed. He reached over with one hand and seized his little secret from behind the nightstand. This had been way too easy.

He laid there, his back to the door, holding the precious little bottle in his hand, staring at it. So easy to just pop the lid off… But then he stopped. He licked his lips at the thought of popping one or two. But he hesitated. He knew that if he did that, it would be a monumental fuck up. And he would be a monumental failure. He would lose everything. His job, Cuddy, Wilson. Absolutely everyone and everything. Including his mind. But what kind of life would he have, with nothing to kill the pain? He couldn't live like that. This way would be so much easier… His leg fucking hurt. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt…

He laid there, the battle raging within himself, and then he heard her come back. He didn't move.

Cuddy walked back into the room carrying a tray of snacks that she had quickly thrown together. When she saw him lying there, and saw what he had, she stopped dead in her tracks. She knew this had been bound to happen at some point, just not this quick. So. He had found a hidden bottle of Vicodin somewhere. But apparently he hadn't taken any yet… What was he doing, just laying there?

She stood still, frozen in place. Her first instinct was to lunge across the bed like a linebacker and rip that bottle right out of his hand. But he was at a critical crossroads right here… She needed to see what he was going to do. What he really wanted to do. What choice he was going to make.

He didn't turn around, he didn't let go of the bottle. He just laid there.

"You gonna take this away?" He finally asked, still staring at it.

Cuddy set the tray down and slowly walked around the bed. She sat down next to him, curling one leg underneath herself. She could see the mighty struggle going on inside him, and she wondered who, or what, was winning.

"That's up to you," she said gently.

He kept laying there. Not moving.

"You can't keep me on the methadone forever," he said quietly.

"I know," she answered.

"I have to have something for the pain," he said. "_Something_."

He squeezed his hand tightly around the bottle.

"We'll find something," she told him gently. "I don't have all the answers, Greg. But we both know that what you've got in your hand isn't one of them. Still, it has to be your choice."

No response. He just laid there. Time clicked by. It felt like an eternity, but it was only a few minutes.

He didn't look at her. The rest of his body never moved. He slowly reached his arm over, and opened his hand, releasing his hold on the little bottle, handing it to her. She took it from him and tucked it deep into her pocket.

He pulled his hand back, balled it into a fist and pressed it to his forehead, closing his eyes. He was suddenly terribly ashamed of himself for trying to manipulate her.

She leaned over and hugged him, gently laying across his body.

"Good choice," she whispered to him.

*****

Neither one of them said anything more. Cuddy, careful to guard her still sore ribs, maneuvered herself around to where she could comfortably hold him, softly rubbing his back. He moved closer to her, laying his head on her. He closed his eyes. He was now much more tired than he was hungry. And he didn't want to talk. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to deal with anything. He just wanted to lay next to her, try and forget his pain, and let her try to soothe away his absolute hopelessness…

*****

House finally fell asleep. She stayed there and held him, feeling an enormous warmth in her heart for him. Was it love? She didn't know. She allowed her mind to drift, just being there, enjoying the glow and bond of closeness that the two of them had shared over the last near three days straight, and the huge decision and leap of faith that he had just demonstrated to her. For the first time since this whole ordeal began, she allowed herself to entertain the thought that everything could actually turn out OK. Somehow.

Gregory House was definitely a handful. Always had been. He was an administrator's nightmare. He was a wild bundle of childish, selfish, arrogant, annoying things. Balancing that, he was an incredibly gifted and brilliant doctor and a diagnostics genius.

But underneath all that, stripped down to the basest level, he was… a man. Just a man. And she had finally seen that man. Really seen him. Not Dr. House, her troublesome employee, and an old college fling. No. She had finally met _Greg_. The man. A scarred and injured man, inside and out. A man violently angry and immeasurably sad at being trapped in a crippled body, and in constant pain. A man who had been betrayed and hurt by everyone he had ever loved and trusted.

No wonder he hated people. Hated contact. Hated life. None of it had ever given him anything good. Nothing he could believe in. Nothing he could hold on to. Could she be the one to change that?

She softly stroked her hand down his muscular arm. She enjoyed touching him, how responsive he was. His skin was so surprisingly soft. The way he would slightly lean into her touch was so incredibly rewarding. She wanted more. More of him. She loved the way it felt when he put his arm around her, or rested his hand on her leg. His fingertips gently brushing against her with amazing gentleness and an incredibly soft touch. She wished that there no clothes in the way. Just skin against skin. Just the two of them…

So many years gone by, only to end up here, now, sharing a bed together… Could there actually be a chance of…

Her cell phone vibrated on the night stand, interrupting her pleasantly wandering thoughts. She was immediately annoyed and made no move to even check the caller. She had handled everything important earlier. It was 3 minutes before 5PM on a Friday, for God's sake. And she was quite content right where she was. She ignored it.

Probably some ridiculous supply crisis or a floor nurse looking for excessive overtime approval for the weekend. But it grated against the nightstand again. And again. And then again. Christ, enough.

Cuddy finally reached over and grabbed the phone, angrily snapping it open.

"What?!" She demanded harshly.

She heard the lightly accented voice of her nanny.

"Dr. Lisa," she said, her voice quiet and slightly shaky. "Oh my God, Dr. Lisa, I am so sorry," she was clearly upset, and Cuddy's alarm bells began to go off. She went into full alert mode.

"Dr. Lisa, there is a man here. He say he is from child service. I am so sorry. I tell him how long you have been gone from Rachel. He made me tell. He say he need to speak with you right away… I am so sorry…" She began to cry.

Cuddy's breath caught in her throat, and she felt her heart sink all the way down into her feet…


	5. Ch5Not The Baby

**DON'T LET GO, Ch5-Not The Baby**

**House's world is finally beginning to stabilize, while Cuddy's could be crumbling… **

_**This chapter ended up getting kinda long… But hey, we got a lot stuff going on, ya know??? So sit back, relax and I hope you enjoy the ride… **_

_**And fear not, Chapter 6 is already under construction and coming VERY soon…**_

**PLEASE send comments & reviews, no matter how long or short… my muse thrives on them… it keeps the flow going… just no flames, please… thanks!**

**Rated M/Adult for strong language and future stuff.**

**All the usual and applicable disclaimers and warnings apply, such as don't like - don't read; I don't own House or any other characters, or anything or anybody else, blah, blah, blah…**

**NITEJASMINE**

DON'T LET GO, Chapter 5-Not The Baby

House MD fanfic by NiteJasmine

*****

"_Dr. Lisa, there is a man here… from child service… I tell him how long you have been gone from Rachel… He say he need to speak with you right away… I am so sorry…"_

Lisa Cuddy felt a huge knot churning in her stomach as she replayed the conversation with her nanny over and over in her head. More than once along the route home, she thought she might actually have to pull over and throw up. But that would delay her further, so she swallowed down the rising bile and kept going.

Her panicked, tearful nanny Teresa had handed the phone to the man, and he had curtly introduced himself as 'Mr. Alan Wyndham, New Jersey Child Services.' They had only had a brief conversation, but he had made it quite clear that there was a "definitive and serious problem" with his surprise follow-up evaluation visit. She already hated his tight, thin, pinched voice. He said that if she could come home immediately and answer some questions for him, that things perhaps might not go quite so badly in his report. She said she would be there as quickly as possible, would he please wait for her? He had said yes, but not for very long.

After the trauma of the past few days, her nerves were brutally raw. She was wiped out both physically and mentally. She knew she looked like hell. She hadn't had a chance to change her clothes or take a shower. Her body was sore, hungry and absolutely exhausted. And her emotions had been through a sadistic rollercoaster.

But regardless of all of that, she had swung into immediate action. Rachel. Her baby. _They were trying to take her baby_. She had quickly called Wilson, and had hurriedly just told both him and House that there was an emergency and that she had to go. She had reacted and functioned on pure adrenaline and instinct.

At the current moment, she was quietly secluded in her silver BMW, hurtling towards home through the darkening, rainy streets of Princeton at break-neck speeds. Alone with her own worst fears. She had a genuine nightmare waiting for her. Mr. Wyndham. He had agreed to stay and wait for her, but she had no idea how long he would wait… Five minutes? Ten? Who knew? It had already been twenty. Would he still be there? She began to panic. Time was definitely of the essence. She sped even faster along the remaining route to home as fast as she dared, hoping she wouldn't get pulled over...

She hadn't shared with anyone what the true 'emergency' really was at this point. She couldn't drop this on House, he was still entirely too fragile. And she didn't have time to talk to Wilson. She was totally on her own with this one, and she was absolutely terrified. _Losing Rachel._ She shuddered to even consider the thought, and immediately pushed it out of her mind. Hoping and praying that she could somehow salvage this disaster…

It was almost 6 PM when she finally came charging into her driveway. It looked like every single light in her home was on. She took just a minute to try and gather herself and steady her nerves before climbing out of the car and walking as confidently as possible through her own front door…

*****

House was quiet. Wilson was sitting in the chair next to his bed, also quiet. The two men had shared some cursory chit chat, but not much more than that. Wilson was wiped out and House just wasn't in the mood. He just sat there silently on the bed, lost in his own thoughts. It was now pitch dark outside. Cuddy had made an amazingly swift departure. She had hurriedly told him that she had a critical emergency, and really had to go for a while. She also said she would be back as soon as she possibly could. She had then summoned Wilson, who arrived in record time, and after leaving a quick list of instructions, she had rapidly vanished in a flash out the door with no further explanation. _Must be some emergency_, House thought to himself.

House observed that she seemed really wound up, edgy and stressed out, but he chalked that up to the rough few days she had just been through with him, as well as the fact that her job at PPTH could be extremely demanding and she had been away for a bit of time.

He knew she had stretched herself pretty thin, spending all the time she had spent with him, but still he hated seeing her go. He comforted himself with the knowledge that he knew that she would, indeed, be back, comfortably at his side, as soon as possible. Until then, he would just have to try and entertain himself with his other dark-haired friend…

*****

Wilson was actually grateful for the peace and quiet. He was pretty goddamn tired himself, having not slept much in the last couple of days, and spending so much time at the hospital today, catching up on treating all of his double-booked patients.

And he had also spent more than his fair share of diffusing and deflecting a million questions about House and Cuddy. The PPTH rumor mill was absolutely buzzing since House's blatant announcement from the second floor lobby earlier in the week about he and Cuddy having sex. Especially now with both doctors being noticeably absent from the hospital. Wilson felt like he had been caught in a celebrity media blitz. It had been ridiculous.

But he knew he had to stay awake through the night, or however long it took for Cuddy to return. While House was still on the methadone, even with the decreasing doses, he had to be watched to make sure he didn't suddenly suffer a respiratory arrest. And since he was still experiencing pain, to also make sure he didn't get desperate and dig up any contraband drugs.

So as tired as he was, he knew Cuddy was counting on him, and he was determined that he would not let her down. This particular vigil was going to be a bit tougher than the previous one for him to stay awake. But Cuddy had left the coffee maker and some snacks on the hallway table for him, just outside the bedroom door and within easy reach. Coffee. Excellent idea. He needed some strong, black coffee… and lots of it…

*****

"Mr. Wyndham, thank you for waiting," Cuddy said as she walked quickly into her living room. The twerpy looking man rose from the big easy chair and peered at her over a thick black pair of half-glasses. His handshake was like a warm dead fish. He sat back down, and Cuddy took a seat opposite him.

"It is highly unusual, Miss Cuddy, for me to wait like this," he said in a thin, high-pitched voice that was already grating her nerves. "But we do try and make whatever allowances we can before seizing a child."

Cuddy felt a cold chill run down her back at his words.

"I understand you have been away from the child for nearly three full days and nights?" he asked flatly.

"I had urgent medical business to attend to," Cuddy began. "As you may know, I am a doctor. And the Dean of Medicine at Princeton-Pl…"

"A simple yes or no will suffice ma'am," he interrupted.

She paused.

"Then, yes. That is correct," Cuddy answered, forcing herself to stay calm. "My nanny Teresa has been here the entire time and I have checked in repeatedly by phone. I assure you, Rachel has been very well looked after and cared for."

"Mmmmm Hmmm," the twerp mumbled, scribbling something down on his notepad.

At that moment, Teresa appeared in the doorway with Rachel. Cuddy smiled warmly and held her arms out. It felt so good to hold her little girl again, so soft and warm…

Mr. Wyndham watched her, still peering over the top of his glasses, his lips pursed, not smiling.

"The rest of your home passed my inspection adequately, Miss Cuddy," he said in his whiney voice. "However, an absence from the child such as this is quite serious, as it could potentially be construed as abandonment under the specifics of that statute in the eyes of the State of New Jersey. This will have to go before the Review Board."

Cuddy swallowed hard.

"You mean you could actually take her away from me?" Cuddy asked, hoping she didn't sound as panicked as she felt. Sensing her tension, Rachel started to fuss.

"That is a very real possibility," the twerp replied. "The Board will review the case and render their decision. You will contacted within 10 business days." He tore a carboned piece of neatly printed paper from his notebook and laid it down on the table.

"Your copy," he finished tightly.

The man stood up and began gathering his things to leave.

"Wait a minute," Cuddy said, standing up quickly. "That's it? I came rushing home to speak to you, and you ask me one question and leave? Sir, you can't do this!"

Rachel began to cry. Cuddy tried to console her, but to no avail. It certainly did not make Cuddy look like mother of the year.

"Yes, ma'am, I can," the twerp said evenly. "And I am. My only focus is what is in the best interest of the child. It is the responsibility of the Review Board to determine if that is what _your_ focus is as well. And you should not have come rushing home for me, Miss Cuddy… You should have come rushing home… for her." He pointed at the crying baby in her arms.

"We'll be in touch," he said as he walked stiffly out of the front door, leaving her standing there, feeling devastated, holding a wailing Rachel.

*****

"So, you're just going to sit there all night and watch me sleep?" Asked House, finally breaking the long silence.

"Yep. Pretty much," Wilson answered. "At least until Cuddy comes back."

"You don't have to baby sit me," House said indignantly.

"Cuddy's orders," said Wilson.

House sighed. He knew Wilson would absolutely follow whatever instructions she had given him, to the letter. No use arguing the point.

"Fine." He said eventually.

Both men went quiet again for a while. Then House began to feel antsy. He tried reading, but that bored him. He wished Cuddy were here. He decided that when she came back, he would arrange to have his TV brought in here. That, or they could just move this whole party into the living room. He got more antsy. He needed to _do_ something. Get up. Move. Something.

House suddenly grabbed his cane and made a motion to get up off the bed.

"And, where are you going?" asked Wilson, somewhat startled.

"I… I need a shower," House replied, looking towards the bathroom.

Wilson had noticed that his friend was getting more and more agitated, but that little announcement had caught him off guard. He really hadn't expected House to want to do much of anything.

"Oh. Well, then I'm going with you." Wilson said quickly recovering. He stood up, ready to offer some help.

House sat on the edge of the bed and rolled his eyes.

"Oh, this routine again?" House stared up at his friend, quite annoyed. "Look, I don't have a goddamn stash in there, and I don't need your help."

"You don't have a choice House," Wilson told him. "You are not allowed out of my sight. Not for a second. Cuddy's orders."

"Fuck Cuddy's orders," House muttered.

"Not gonna happen. Now come on," Wilson made a face. "You're right, you _do_ need a shower. And you _do_ need my help. I let you get hurt, and Cuddy will tear my head off."

House realized a losing battle when he saw it. So he allowed Wilson to help him into the bathroom, and into the tub, still clothed. He pulled the shower curtain shut and quickly undressed, tossing his clothes out onto the bathroom floor before turning on the water. The room soon filled with delicious steam as House lathered up. Wilson took a seat nearby on the closed toilet, and waited.

As wonderful as the fresh soap and glorious hot water felt, House quickly tired. His small burst of energy for this little endeavor quickly draining away. His legs were feeling weak, and his thigh was beginning to throb. Holding tightly onto the pipes in front of him, he finished rinsing off. He shut off the water and grabbed a towel, dried himself and wrapped it around his waist. When he slid the curtain back open, Wilson was right there.

"Feel better?" his friend asked.

"Yeah," he answered honestly.

He let Wilson help him out and back into the bedroom. House stopped briefly, leaning against his large dresser, and pulled out a clean T shirt and pajama bottoms. Keeping his back to Wilson, he unceremoniously dropped the towel and managed to quickly slip on the fresh clothes without incident. He grabbed his cane again and limped back to the bed, flopping down with a heavy sigh.

He was quite tired now. He closed his eyes as he heard Wilson settle back into the chair beside him. He smelled the fresh cup of coffee his friend had just poured. He wondered when Cuddy would be back…

*****

Cuddy put Rachel down in her crib. She was drained. She felt completely numb. She was even too tired to cry. She went through the motions of taking a quick shower and changing her clothes. She was in shock, unable to even consider the possibility of losing Rachel. She decided to contact her attorney first thing in the morning, weekend or not. There had to be a way to fight this.

She came back and sat down in the oversized rocking chair in Rachel's room, and watched her baby girl sleep. Rachel needed her. God, everyone needed her. House needed her. The hospital needed her. She was being pulled in too many different directions and it was threatening to tear her apart at the seams. Teresa popped in and asked if everything was OK. Cuddy let out a shaky laugh. _No. Everything is definitely NOT okay,_ she thought, but kept it to herself. She simply sighed before nodding her head yes.

"I'm going to stay here tonight," she told her faithful nanny. "But I have to leave again in the morning. Early."

Teresa nodded.

"Yes, Dr. Lisa. I'm so sorry…" Teresa went to move towards her.

Cuddy waved a hand. She didn't want to talk about it.

Teresa got the hint, backed up, and left the room. Within minutes, Cuddy fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep. Right there in the big rocking chair.

*****

House slept fitfully, and woke up about 4 in the morning. Before even opening his eyes, he swept one hand out across the bed next to him, finding it empty. No Cuddy. He realized that he had been without her for the whole night. He reluctantly had to admit to himself that he really missed her, and that really pissed him off. It made his leg hurt. More. He opened his eyes and looked around, and there was Wilson, sitting there, awake, looking back at him. He was bleary eyed and groggy, but awake.

"Can I have my dose?" House asked, angrily reaching down and rubbing his leg.

"Not 'til morning." Wilson answered tiredly, leaning forward on the chair and massaging his stiff neck.

"It _is_ morning," House answered, sounding annoyed.

Wilson thought for a minute, and looked at his watch. He slowly nodded.

"So it is," he said, and slowly got up from the chair.

House patiently and quietly waited as Wilson measured out his methadone dose, per Cuddy's instructions, and gave it to him. He noted that the doses of the vibrant blue liquid were getting proportionately smaller every time. He figured that Cuddy had already decided how long she would keep him on the drug, and had adjusted his dosages accordingly, based on that timeframe. She just hadn't bothered to share that particular schedule with him.

He tried not to be upset about it. He did recognize that she was a competent and capable physician, and even after considering their entire history of events over all these years, the bottom line was that he really _did _trust her. He was sure that she would never, ever do anything to seriously hurt him. Even if that motivation was solely out of guilt, or shaded by the feelings that he knew she had for him, the result was the same. She would do just about anything if she believed it would help him or protect him. She had already proven that many times over.

He wondered how many more doses he would get, how much more time he had to go. And after that, then what? That was the million dollar question. He had to believe that Cuddy would come through for him. Come up with something for his pain beyond the methadone. He was just going to have to trust her. And Wait…

House had been sitting there, silently lost in his thoughts. Wilson decided to interrupt him.

"You're awfully quiet," Wilson said, slightly suspicious.

House shook himself out of his reverie and focused on his friend.

"Yeah, well. This is me… on methadone. Remember?" House answered, somewhat sarcastically. "Only not quite as pain-_free_ this time."

Wilson nodded, relieved.

"Yes, I do, remember," he replied. "I remember you actually being… umm... _Nice._"

House scowled at him.

"I was an idiot," House snipped. "A complete fucking moron. I screwed up a simple diagnosis and let a patient's parents push my buttons. Could've killed that stupid kid. I was pathetic."

Wilson didn't answer him, just sat there looking at him.

"You were still nice…" Wilson finally added with a light grin.

House sighed and rolled his eyes.

"So," House asked, "Cuddy tell _you_ how long I'm staying on this _program_ of hers?"

Wilson recognized that he was fishing for information. But Cuddy had not shared her plans or her timeframe with him either. Actually, he had barely had a chance to talk to Cuddy at all since this whole thing started. He was really worried about her. She had looked so awful when she had rushed out of the apartment last night, with barely a few sentences. And she hadn't called or texted him all night to check in.

But, he had to realize that she had been through a certain level of hell over the past three days and would naturally be more than a bit wrung out from the ordeal. Besides, he felt sure that if Cuddy had any kind of real trauma going on, she would certainly tell him.

"Nope, sorry," he finally answered honestly, shaking his head. "Just this morning's dose. That's all I know. That's it."

House sighed, and rubbed his forehead.

"Fuck." He said simply.

"You're gonna be alright," Wilson offered sincerely.

"You don't know that," House snapped back. "She bother to tell you what she has in mind for my new pain meds?"

"No, she hasn't," Wilson answered patiently. "House, we haven't exactly been taking long lunches and chatting over coffee. I've barely had a chance to even speak to her. I'm sure she's got something in mind. Try and have some patience."

"You know I _hate… patients_," House quipped.

Wilson grinned. It was encouraging to have some of the banter back with his friend again, it brought some measure of comforting normalcy.

He was trying to be reassuring for House, but he remembered all to well Cuddy's clueless, desperate look after she had given him that first dose of methadone. He hoped to God that House couldn't tell he was lying through his teeth. And he hoped that Cuddy was alright, and that she would be back soon…

*****

She had returned, just before six. She still looked tired and edgy. But once she saw how tapped out Wilson was, she sent him home immediately. He was too exhausted to say much except to please call him later. She had hugged him and sent him on his way.

After he left, Cuddy poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down in the chair that Wilson had just vacated.

"How are you doing?" She asked House, slowly sipping from the steaming cup.

As much as he was glad to have her back with him, he couldn't help giving her a flippant answer. He was still childishly annoyed that she had been away from him all night.

"Oh, I'm just peachy," he said sarcastically. "I was thinking today I would lace up and run a few laps around the block, loosen up these tight muscles…"

"House," Cuddy abruptly cut him off, not smiling. "I'm not in the mood. Just answer me. How's the pain?"

He was irritated with her coolness. He didn't answer her right away. He just laid there, propped up on the bed, analyzing her. She looked away from him and continued to drink her coffee. She had obviously showered and changed, but he wasn't sure if she had gotten any sleep. She still looked so stressed out and anxious. She absently rubbed her forehead.

"So… one night away from me and we're back to last names?" He asked evenly, throwing an intense stare at her.

"It's what I call you when you're being an ass," she replied quickly, staring right back. "You should be used to it."

He went quiet again, just watching her. Something was up. He could sense it. She was wound up and radiating tension, but trying very hard not to show it. He saw her nervously check her watch.

"It's time for your dose," she said, softening a bit. She set her coffee down and stood up.

"Already got it," he answered.

She stopped still.

"What? When?!" She demanded, suddenly angry.

"A couple hours ago, around four. Wilson gave it to me," he answered, perplexed by her sudden outburst.

"Son of a bitch!" She blurted loudly. "I told him six, goddamn it! Six! _Four_ is _not_ fucking _six_! Can't he tell fucking time?!"

House was actually startled at the severity of her reaction. More specifically, her _over_ reaction.

She stormed over and grabbed her cell phone from her purse and flipped it open.

"Let's just call Dr. Wilson and ask him why the fuck he can't seem to follow basic instructions!" she said, her voice still loud and edgy.

"Don't!" House interrupted her sharply. "He's probably asleep by now. Let him sleep. You can scream at him later…"

Cuddy looked down at her open cell phone, and saw the screen was black. The battery was dead. She had forgotten to plug the damn thing in last night.

"Fuck!" She hollered, and hurled the phone across the room. It hit the far wall and separated into several chunky pieces. She could feel a monster tidal wave of pent up emotion rapidly building inside. She turned around and slammed her back against the wall, and put her head in her hands, desperately trying to keep control of herself.

House wasn't sure what the hell to do. He gave her a few minutes before saying anything.

"Come on… It's not that big a deal," House said, keeping his voice calm. "At this low dosage, you know the timing is nowhere near as critical… it's OK."

"Yeah, I know," she said, her voice now quite soft.

"You're not _really_ that pissed at _Wilson_," House offered, hoping she wouldn't snap and throw something at him.

"No," another weak reply.

"Then, what…"

"Child Services," she answered, just as quietly. "I had an inspector at my house last night..."

She dropped her hands to her sides, staring at the floor, looking defeated.

"It did not… go well," she shakily continued. "They're charging me with… abandonment. There's a… hearing… They could… take her…"

That was all she could manage to get out. She put her hands back up to her face and slid down the wall, landing in a heap on the floor. She burst into tears.

*****

She had no idea how long she had lain there, wrenching her heart and soul out, totally helpless and lost and completely at the mercy of her extreme emotions. But the next thing she was consciously aware of was the feeling of strong arms wrapping around her, pulling her up from the floor and away from the wall. She let herself be gathered up and held closely while she still sobbed uncontrollably.

"I'm sorry…" House whispered into her hair. "I'm sorry Lisa…" He sat there on the floor, ignoring the intense stabs of pain it caused in his leg, and held her as she cried hard, curled up in his arms…

*****

They eventually worked their way up off the floor, and back up onto the bed. House kept his arms around her and just let her cry, venting all that raw emotion, remembering how she had done the same thing for him only a few days ago.

She eventually calmed down. She was still sniffling, but the massive flow of tears slacked off. Still, she didn't move from his side, unwilling to leave the comforting warmth of his embrace. She just shifted slightly in his arms, pushing her face up against his neck.

"Thank you," she whispered.

His response was a slight turn, and a soft kiss on her forehead, his hand gently stroking her soft dark hair…

At that moment, House's phone rang, startling them both. The spell was broken. Cuddy sat up, wiping away the remaining tears and getting a hold on herself. House inwardly cursed the lousy timing. Who the hell was calling him now? He reluctantly grabbed the phone and checked the caller ID. Wilson.

House answered the call, his friend sounded like he was still half asleep on the other end.

He groggily asked for Cuddy and once House handed the phone to her, Wilson mumbled that he had forgotten to tell her that he had already given House his morning's dose… She half smiled, and said it was OK, she already knew. She told him to go back to sleep, and hung up.

"You hungry?" She asked.

House nodded, the magic of the previous moment completely gone.

She got up to go get some of the snacks in the hallway.

He missed the warmth of her body against his immediately, but he kept it to himself.

*****

At 9AM sharp, she sat in the chair by House's bed, and used his phone to call her attorney. She spoke at length with him and told him everything about the surprise inspection visit. House sat quietly, listening to her side of the conversation intently. The attorney told her that actually, he had already heard of this geeky inspector, and he knew exactly what to do and how to deal with this. He assured her that everything would be OK. He would diligently pursue a positive course of action with the Department of Child Services. He had handled these kinds of things before, and he knew what he was doing. He told her to try and relax, that this Mr. Wyndham character had been way out of line and his abandonment accusations were absolutely ridiculous. She felt relieved at hearing his words, but still, the nagging fear knotted in the pit of her stomach wasn't going to go away until she heard from the Review Board officially.

Once she hung up, House reached over and slid open a drawer in his nightstand. He pulled out a small silver key and handed it to her.

"My front door," he said simply, sliding the drawer back shut.

She looked at him questioningly.

"Look, you obviously can't stay here with me 24/7," he told her. "And especially if this Wyndham asshole decides to check up on you…"

He paused, then nodded to the key.

"You're going to be very busy. You can… come and go from here… whenever you want. Bring a few things over, so you have them here, change of clothes, whatever." He said, then looked away from her.

She looked at him warmly. She knew this was his way of trying to show some support.

"Okay," she said softly. "Thank you."

*****

She had to admit, she was truly torn between wanting to spend time with both Rachel _and_ Greg. She had never expected to ever feel so close to Gregory House. She hadn't thought it possible. But they _did_ have a bond, and she found herself longing for it more and more…

She briefly allowed herself to fantasize, and wished that she could just shut out the rest of the world, and that she and a somehow-pain-free Greg could wrap themselves up in each others arms, and then she would explore his warm mouth with her tongue, and there would be no clothes hindering her wandering hands… and… and… She shook her head slightly as she forced herself to push those thoughts out of her mind.

She didn't have time for that. Not for some fantasy world. The real world was cold and harsh and very demanding. She had a lot of work to do…


	6. Ch6Cuddy's Comfort

**DON'T LET GO, Ch6-Cuddy's Comfort**

**House struggles through another night… And gets some much needed comfort…**

**I know it's kind of a short chapter, but there's more on the way…**

**Rated M/Adult for strong language and WARNING: References to child abuse and House & Cuddy getting more intimate… nothing too racy just yet… but it will be soon, I promise!**

**All the usual and applicable disclaimers and warnings apply, such as don't like - don't read; I don't own House or any other characters, or anything or anybody else, blah, blah, blah…**

**NITEJASMINE**

DON'T LET GO, Chapter 6-Cuddy's Comfort

House MD fanfic by NiteJasmine

*****

_Greg sat silently in the small dark space, his small arms wrapped tightly around his legs, hugging his knees up against his chin. The smell of floor wax and furniture polish thick in his nose. He could hear the mess being cleaned up on the other side of the thin door. He knew well enough to keep his mouth shut and not make a sound._

_He hadn't meant to drop the glass of milk, it had been an accident. The heavy glass had just slipped from his fingers and then had shattered on the hardwood floor, sending milk flying and chunks of glass skittering everywhere. The noise had brought his father storming into the kitchen, bellowing a stream of military obscenities. The big man had snatched the broom and dustpan from the utility closet before roughly shoving him into their place and slamming the door shut. He slid down the wall in the tiny space, trying to make himself even smaller, fear knotting itself in the pit of his stomach. He knew he didn't dare even think about crying, that would only make things much, much worse._

_Suddenly, the door was jerked back open. Greg looked up tentatively, blinking and squinting at the light, only to see the tall imposing figure of Big John House glaring down at him, the unbridled look of contempt in his eyes. Before he could move, both of his wrists were seized in one huge hand and he was yanked to his feet and hauled from the closet. The big man leaned in, pulling Greg up close to his menacing face._

"_You know what your problem is, boy?" He growled, shaking him. "You just don't appreciate how good you have it here."_

_He stood back up and shoved the cleaning supplies back into the closet, banging the door shut._

"_Same goddamn problem your mama has," his father snarled. He grabbed Greg's shirt collar and headed quickly for the stairs. Greg stumbled along, trying to keep up, knowing he would catch further hell if he let his shirt get torn._

_His mother had left earlier for an Officer's Wives Fundraiser, and Greg knew she wouldn't be back home until much later. He was on his own with the big monster. John House was very good at tormenting him in a variety of devious and horrendous ways. All of which never left a mark on him. Never a trace of physical evidence to show anyone what he had endured, especially his mother._

_They got to the top of the stairs and his father shoved him into the bathroom. The bathtub was filled with water, and Greg's eyes went wide when he saw the huge chunks of ice floating in it. Must have gotten them from the big chest freezer in the garage…_

"_Get those clothes off, boy," the big man ordered with an evil grin. "It's bath night. I promised your mother."_

_His father began to laugh at him as his small trembling fingers managed to undress himself. When he was finally standing there naked, his father scooped him up and plunged him into the icy water…_

"_Nooooo!!!" he heard himself shriek. He scrunched his eyes shut as the shock of the cold water took his breath away. He involuntarily sucked in some water and came up coughing and choking... His skin felt like a thousand needles were prickling him… He started shaking violently…_

"_Greg!" He heard a woman's voice yelling to him. "Greg!" _

_His mom! She must be home early! But his father leaned over and put his large hands on his shoulders, driving his small body deep under the water and holding him there so he couldn't call out… Couldn't breathe…_

_He heard her calling his name over and over again… He started to thrash wildly, his small fists banging against the tub, trying to break the big man's grip, trying to get away…_

_He forced his eyes open..._

_And there was Amber… Sitting on the bus seat in front of him, calling to him... Reaching a hand out towards him, her eyes pleading… The glaring lights of the truck behind her getting brighter and brighter… No… no, no, no… He clamped his eyes shut against the impact… Then everything was tumbling… crashing together… freefalling…_

"GREG!"

He snapped his eyes open again. Cuddy was sitting in front of him, looking seriously concerned. Her hands were on his shoulders, shaking him awake while trying to avoid getting hit by his swinging, flailing arms. He was lying on the sofa in his own living room, bathed in a cold sweat.

"Greg!" She yelled again, seeing him finally come up out of the awful nightmare, his wild eyes focusing on her. He stopped struggling and sat up, trembling and gasping for air.

"Hey, shhhhhh," Cuddy said, keeping a hand on his shoulder while running the other through his damp hair, trying to calm him down. "It's OK. Calm down. You're safe. It was just a bad dream. You're OK…"

He looked around quickly, reassuring himself that he was, in fact, safe in his own home and that nobody else was there except Lisa Cuddy. He remembered coming out here to the living room with her sometime in the afternoon, to watch TV. She was going to stay with him tonight and Wilson would be by in the morning… Yeah, he remembered now.

Only then did he let himself relax. He closed his eyes again and focused on slowing his breathing. Cuddy gave him a few minutes to recover. He finally stopped shaking.

"Want to talk about it?" She asked him, gently stroking his arm.

He opened his eyes and looked at her, then shook his head.

"No," he said quickly. "You're right. Just a… nightmare. It was nothing."

Cuddy knew it certainly hadn't been nothing, but decided to not to push him about it right now. He had been shouting and fighting against something horrible, she could hear the terror and panic in his voice. And it had taken her quite some time and effort to finally get him to wake up. But she knew how vulnerable he still was, both physically and mentally, and that there was nothing to be gained by trying to force him to open up. So she settled for just staying there next to him, helping him calm down and get a hold of himself.

"Okay," she said softly.

It took several minutes for House to get himself settled down. Cuddy sat quietly with him, giving him all the time he needed. He put a hand up and rubbed his forehead. He had a pounding headache. And his leg was already voicing it's own nasty level of discomfort.

"What time is it?" He asked, wondering when he would be getting his next dose of methadone, no matter how small.

"Almost two in the morning," Cuddy replied, still looking worried.

Damn. He had at least another couple hours to wait, maybe more. He needed to distract himself. Plus he wanted to deflect any further conversation about his bad trip through dreamland.

"Can I get you anything?" She asked gently.

He looked at her, and she saw a tiny sparkle in his eyes.

"How about a Vicodin?" He quipped.

She gave him a dirty look and scoffed, breaking the tension.

"Morphine?" He continued, encouraged that the injection of humor seemed to be working. "Demerol? Percocet? Or how about…" Cuddy cut him off before he could go any further.

"Oh, knock it off," she said in mock annoyance. "You know better."

She sat for a moment and just gazed warmly at him. This enigmatic man that she had known for some 20-plus years. They had been through so much in the last few days. More than once she had wondered if he would pull through, if he would be alright. And somehow he always managed to constantly surprise and amaze her. She knew they weren't out of the woods yet, but she was so delighted to see the shades of his old sarcastic self resurfacing. The old House she had always known and yes, had really always loved. She couldn't keep the smile from coming to her face as she looked at him.

"What are you grinning at?" He asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

She reached out and put one hand on his grizzled cheek, then she leaned in and softly pressed her lips to his. She didn't think about, she just did it.

It caught him completely off guard. He remembered his massive hallucination, how real it had all felt, her kiss, her touch. How real her body had felt against him. Now it _was_ real… And it scared the living hell out of him. But… it felt so _good…_ He wanted more… He had waited so long…

He didn't let her pull away. He reached out and gripped her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. He returned her kiss, deepening it, while slowly wrapping his arms around her. She leaned against him and moaned softly, her hands sliding around his neck and wandering up his back.

They stayed that way for a while, kissing each other lazily, their mouths tenderly exploring each other. Neither one wanting it to end, neither one pulling away.

House forgot about his headache. He forgot about his nightmares. He forgot about his thigh. He forgot about his pain. For those timeless moments, the only thing that he felt was the warmth of the woman in his arms. His Cuddy. Nothing compared to the comfort he felt radiating from her. He had waited over 20 years for this, but now he had absolutely no idea why he had waited for so long. And now that he had it, he never wanted to let it go…

Their kiss eventually ended as gently as it had begun, but Cuddy didn't move away. House laid back on the sofa, turning slightly to give her more room while still holding her closely against him. She curled herself up against his chest as he draped the light blanket over them both. She felt him relax into the couch with a deep sigh, burying his face in her hair. He kept his arms gently wrapped around her, careful not to put any stress on her still tender and bruised ribs.

"Sweet dreams, Greg," Cuddy whispered softly. He didn't answer her, but she felt him kiss her through her mess of tousled hair.

Cuddy closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep listening to the steady sound of Greg's heartbeat.

They laid there entwined with each other until some hours later, when Wilson burst through the front door, juggling his briefcase and a couple bags of coffee and donuts…

*****


End file.
